


Late Night Texting

by Pandora_de_Romanus



Series: Ship-tober 2018 [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Good Peter Hale, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Murderer Peter Hale, Reference to Hannibal (TV), Sane Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16318925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandora_de_Romanus/pseuds/Pandora_de_Romanus
Summary: Day 8 of Ship-tober 2018Every day a theme. Every day a different ship. Every day a short-fic.





	Late Night Texting

Peter sat in a bar somewhere. He was hoping to get laid but it was late and he had missed his chance. He had a bit too much to drink of his beer laced with wolfsbane. He had just wanted to feel the buzz, but it looked like he had exaggerated. It was a fancy bar in a fancy neighborhood. Exactly his kind of place. The kind which went perfectly with his fancy clothes and his fancy car in the fancy city of San Francisco. Which in its own was so much fancier than Beacon Hills. How he hated that place. The place that was a full blown disaster. The place that had robbed him of his family, his dignity, his humanity, his sanity. He had left it for a goddamned reason. He was trying so hard for a safe, sane life. But the harder he thought about it the clearer it came to him that maybe safe and sane wasn’t in the cards for him. His daughter was living the dream as Mate to the True Alpha. It looked like at least in that, they were very much alike both completely attracted to power. But while her admiration was on terms of raw strength, power of will and honesty, his tastes run a little darker, as his own soul. He could admire wit, brilliance, fast thinking and a good dose of irony. And that brought him to his unconventional attraction to a certain young man, that had been far too young to be in his radar and far too smart not to. If Malia had known she would be disgusted at him once again. An old man like himself attracted to a young boy half his age. But he had had an iron grip over it then and survived temptation for years. Watching that smart brilliant young man fight to find someone who could keep up and end up with the smartest woman in town. Until he went to Quantico while she went to MIT, that is. What a curious amount of thinking he was doing, drunk on a fancy bar. It was absolutely surprising. The only thing more surprising than that was the sound of a new message that startled him out of his thoughts. Think of the little sly devil.

“R u in SanFran?” Read the message with the header S. Stilinski. Peter had kept the phone number of all those boys and girls from Beacon Apocalypse. Like it or not they were very capable supernatural problem solvers. Convenient to have within reach. The problem was that they had also kept his number what resulted in this kind of text in the middle of the night. Peter entertained the idea of ignoring it. 

“Don’t u dare ignore me!” Insisted Stiles’ next message as if the boy could hear him from across town. 

“I’m here.” Peter typed back, more reflex at being caught than anything else. 

“Come over.” Read the next message followed by coordinates for GPS and that was very Stiles of him. Always practical. Peter wasn’t one to do other’s bidding, but for the spark to reach out to him? Something had to be very wrong indeed.

Peter called for his car from the bar’s valet parking and followed the coordinates. 

It’s been years since he had seen the boy, whom, as he opened the door didn’t look like a boy at all. Stiles had filled out nicely, making his height more impressive even if he hadn’t become too bulky and looked very much more like a tried man of the world than a boy. Peter shivered at the sight and that wasn’t just because Stiles turned out more attractive than he expected. He was also sporting am ugly black eye, a busted lip, a cut brow that was swollen like the lip and an arm that rested tightly on a sling. Peter could smell the blood and the smell of hospital that still permeated his skin. 

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked without his usual flair for the dramatic. He would have to be excused, he had been drinking and it was three twenty in the morning. He didn’t even try to hide his scowl at the wounds. 

“Hello to you too, Peter. So nice of you to come at this time of the night. How have you been after these 5 years of radio silence? I heard from Malia that you’ve been doing well for yourself in San Francisco. Please, do come in.” Stiles answered with his usual brand of sarcasm and weirdly it felt like home. 

Peter entered the small Spartan apartment. It didn’t look like Stiles’ room at all and the place didn’t smell of him at all. Also Peter couldn’t hear anyone else. They were alone. Stiles closed the door and went on to the even smaller kitchen.

“Coffee?” The young man asked.

“Will you tell me what’s going on if I say yes?” Asked Peter, he again would blame that irritation and lack of his usual finesse on the wolfsbane laced alcohol.

“Most probably.” Answered Stiles.

“Then yes. Black, no sugar.”

“Like your soul?” The young man asked and Peter had to laugh. He had missed it, this back and forth between them, and his usual shields against Stiles’ charms were pretty low. He came back with a big mug of coffee and brought one for himself, also black but with an astounding amount of sugar.

“Well?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow after taking a sip. 

“What do you want to know first?” Stiles asked from his place at the couch and his own sip of coffee.

“I do have a series of questions and unless you answer all of them, I’m out that door.” Peter explained. The coffee was bringing him back from his altered state but not enough to go back to his current self.

“You were never an easy sell.” Stiles commented shaking his head.

“No. I never was and I never will be.” Peter continued. He wasn’t in the mood for this kind of Rodeo.

“Too smart for that.” Stiles commented looking at his shoes.

“Just like you.” Peter decided to throw him a bone, maybe it would help get to the answers faster.

“Flatterer.”

“Stop deflecting!” Peter demanded when his patience ended. “What happened to you? Why are you sleeping in an apartment that doesn’t smell like you at all? And why am I here? No more excuses. Go.”

“My job happened to me. I’m an FBI agent and I specialized in serial killers. Let’s just say I brought work home. My last case got unhealthily interested in me. And this is what happens when I try to bust bad guys with only humans as backup. Since he is after me, here I am, at this charming and comfortable FBI safe-house, far far away from my apartment.” Stiles explained quickly and truthfully since his heart was steady and he wasn’t using half words or open sentences. 

“And number three?” The werewolf kept on pressing. He wanted all the info, he needed to know where he was stepping.

“I…” He squirmed and blushed for a moment. His eyes on the floor, refusing to meet Peter’s eyes, which was a very clear sign that he was going with the truth. “I just needed a little pack right now.”

“And you texted me?” The older man scoffed.

“You were the closest.” Stiles answered quickly but his heart skipped a beat.

“Lie. I thought you knew better than to lie to a werewolf.”

“Been away too long.” Stiles said more to himself than Peter properly.

“No deflecting. Why me?” The older man demanded again.

“No matter how tough this copycat of the Chesapeake Ripper really is… He will never have your strength. Or your elegance. Or even your… Penache.” Stiles affirmed and it sounded more like he missed Peter than an actual reason.

“Are you complimenting me as a killer, Stiles?” The werewolf asked truly puzzled.

“After five years observing and dissecting and profiling murderers... I have to tell you, you are a very elegant killer.” Stiles said matter-of-factly and that just showed Peter how jaded the FBI had made the young man when he could talk about murder like someone spoke of the weather.

“I’m flattered. Stiles… Aren’t you afraid of me?” Peter had to ask. He had tried to kill those boys so many times through the years it was a very curious notion that Stiles wasn’t afraid of him anymore. 

There was a long pause. As if the young man was gathering his wits or his courage to say the words he did.

“I’m afraid of him.” He said quietly, like he was telling a big secret. And it probably was. Stiles had faced demons, werewolves, dread doctors, beasts, hunters… He was probably ashamed of fearing a man. A simple human. 

He was silent for another moment but raised his head. He looked right into Peter’s blue eyes with his own burning with revenge. Stiles was very fond of revenge, he remembered that. 

“But I know that if he appears here tonight… He will die.” He had said and he smiled that blood-thirsty smile from years gone and winked at Peter.

“Come here, sweetheart. I just love how your mind works. Using me to get rid of your problems, you are so endearing.” Peter said as he opened his arms to Stiles and the young man came to the comfort of his arms with a smile. He knew what they were doing. A contract with the Devil. Better the Devil that you know and all that. Peter’s hand caressed Stiles’ hair sweetly. No matter that this man was strong and independent and a fucking FBI agent. Stiles was still the smart boy who had thrown a Molotov on him. Peter smiled at the memory. 

“Don’t be afraid.” He whispered in Stiles ear with the kindness of a lover. 

“I’ll fix this for you.”


End file.
